The Live House
by Raynre Valence - Sage of Time
Summary: Set in modern Hyrule. Link has returned from the war overseas, his body and spirit battered yet unbroken. Saria, Malon, and Zelda are college students, each with their own goals and ideals - until they all find themselves unexpectedly brought together by rock 'n roll and the world of music. Now the lights go up, and the next chapter in their lives will ring across the crowded hall.
1. Chapter 1

_The Live House_

**Author's Notes:**

Disclaimer: I don't own The Legend of Zelda or any of the established franchise characters. Link, Zelda, and co. are the intellectual property of Nintendo and are not used by this author for any profit beyond his own personal – and sometimes twisted – amusement.

This story is rated **PG-13** for romance, sexual themes/suggestions, language, violence, and thematic elements. There are **adult themes** at work here, and it may dip into the **R** rating occasionally, but there will be no **NC-17**/**X** material here. You have been warned.

* * *

-= Chapter 1 =-

* * *

_The dull crackling of flames was the first thing he heard. The next was the screaming._

_Oily smoke filled his lungs, causing him to cough violently. He gasped, choking on the acrid air, and forced his eyes open._

_All he could see was darkness, and for a muddled moment he thought that he had been struck blind. But no, the shadows flicked, and in an instant the veil was thrown back as bright, burning sunlight lit the inside of the vehicle. Hot, impossibly hot. Just another day in the sandbox. Hoo-ah._

_He recognized the form sitting slumped in the driver's seat to his left. **Gordell**, the nametag read on the brown and beige camouflage body armor. It was the only reason he was able to discern who it was. The head was missing, a smear of blood and gristle splashed through the shattered window and across the dirty sand-colored wall that their vehicle had rolled up against._

_He tasted copper. Half of the world was tinged crimson, and he reached his gloved fingers up, wiping across the tacky blood that oozed from a shallow head wound. His helmet was gone. Where was his helmet..._

_The screaming stopped, almost. He looked around, craning his head even against the stabbing pain in his neck, and saw Jacobs in the back seat. His screams had turned into desperate panting, small whimpering curses as he clenched his hands tightly around the rusted rebar that had speared through the unarmored door and impaled his thigh. Blood pulsed with every heartbeat, a veritable geyser of life that began to die even as Link watched. Soon the screaming stopped entirely, and Jacobs slumped forward, no longer in any pain._

_The heat began to build, the shadows replaced by their opposite. Brilliant tongues of fire flickered gleefully in the engine compartment. He tried the door. Jammed shut by the blast. The pounding in his head was intensifying as the flames leapt higher._

_His weapon was missing, either thrown to the back seat or out the shattered windscreen. He tried his seat belt, but it too was jammed. He reached across with his good arm, the arm that didn't hurt quite so much, and drew his Ka-Bar. Slashed the belt over his armor, scoring the ballistic plate. Didn't matter, the pounding wasn't just in his head now. It was outside, and getting closer._

_Now freed from his seat, he twisted, biting back a scream at the pain. Everything was pain now. In Basic they learned that pain was just weakness leaving the body. Apparently he had a lot of weakness to get rid of._

_He searched frantically, his eyes coming to rest on Jacobs' weapon. He reached out, straining, his fingers barely brushing against the heavy stock of the rifle._

_Gunfire..._

* * *

"Sir?"

Link jerked awake from his dream as his seat was gently shaken. He removed the magazine from over his eyes and blinked groggily against the light streaming in through the windows. His eyes focused on the carefully manicured hand laid on the headrest, up the slim uniformed arm, and into the concerned face of the young lady standing in the aisle next to him.

"I'm sorry to wake you, sir," she said, smiling prettily. "But I'll have to ask you to set your seat in an upright position. We'll be landing shortly."

Link nodded his understanding, wiping the last of the sleep from his eyes, and she turned and made her way further down the aisle, firmly informing others who had not heeded the captain's announcement.

He adjusted his seat, patting his sides out of habit to ensure that no one had made off with anything vital. He glanced out the window, surprised that they were already so low on their approach. Castleton glittered below in the coming twilight, office buildings and skyscrapers sparkling beneath a sheen of freshly fallen rain, the jewel of the west coast. Small wisps of clouds were whipping by as the plane banked, and for a movement he was staring straight down over the Hylian Bay waterfront. Tugs, freighters, and private vessels all mingled and bobbed on the waves, tiny from his vantage point, running lights blazing in the shadows cast by the city.

In a brief moment of vertigo, he felt that he might be staring not at the sea, but at a star-filled sky, impossibly vast. Hard to believe that every one of those lights represented a person in the Emerald City.

It had been seven years since he had been home, not counting the occasional Winterdael holiday, and those had been spent mostly at the airport hotel. He hadn't thought that he would be returning so soon in his career, but it appeared that fate had other plans for him.

The engines began to whine as the pilots vectored around to their final approach. A faint _thnk_ of the landing gear extending, more felt than heard, and the sense of gravity finally winning the battle against a 300 ton aluminum tube filled with people.

He gripped his armrests loosely and forced himself to relax, breathing deep. It wasn't that he was afraid of flying. It was more like he had an inherent distrust of being in a vehicle that he had no control over. A recently learned trait, to be sure.

The cabin began to rumble, and the wheels touched down. The engines opened up in reverse, bleeding off the last of their speed, and they turned and rolled at a stately pace towards the brightly lit terminal.

Easy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Castleton," the pilot said over the intercom. "The current time is 6:24 PM. The temperature is a balmy 56 degrees, with a chance of rainfall later tonight, so please take care as you make your way into the city. We here at Loftwing Airways thank you for choosing us..."

Link unclenched his fingers and cracked his knuckles with nervous energy, eager to be off of the plane. He had been bouncing between airports across the globe for almost a full 24 hours now, and he was eager to find some food, a shower, and a nice soft bed. They didn't even have to come in that order.

People began to filter into the aisle as soon as the plane parked, eager to be out of their seats after the four hour flight even if the doors hadn't yet opened. The man across the aisle waited patiently, shushing his ten-year-old son to sit still, so Link stood and flipped open the overhead compartment.

_I guess it's true what they say,_ he thought, seeing that the bags stored inside had indeed shifted while in flight. His small canvas backpack was crushed beneath a metal and plastic monstrosity that had somehow been wedged into the overhead bin. He tried pushing it aside, but found he couldn't lift the suitcase and get a good grip on his backpack at the same time.

He flexed his scarred hand. Damned thing. The car bomb that had given him these scars, that had ended his career in the Royal Marines, had been powerful enough that the APC ahead of them in the convoy had been completely obliterated, with no survivors. He was lucky to have somehow made it out of the burning wreckage of his own vehicle mostly intact. The doctors said that with proper physical therapy he would regain most of his usual motion and dexterity, but in the meantime he felt a burning frustration at his weakness.

The man across the aisle noticed the difficulty he was having and reached across to grab his bag. "Here, son, let me get that for you," he said. Link nodded his thanks, biting back the irrational impulse to snap at the man, even though he was only trying to help. He was injured, not a cripple, damnit. He would have figured it out eventually. Instead he let the man hand him his bag, hefted the backpack over one shoulder, and quietly joined the rest of the herd slowly filtering towards the exit.

Even so, as he shuffled forwards, many of the passengers took notice of his uniform. He wasn't sure who started, but in seconds the entire plane was clapping, and the aisle cleared itself to the front of the plane. He blinked in surprise, his mouth suddenly dry, and strode forward.

"Welcome home."

"Thank you for your service."

"Goddess bless you."

He nodded at the well-wishers and spoke simple, meaningless acknowledgments as he hurried towards the front of the plane, eager to be out from under the adoration. He'd never liked being the center of attention, least of all when he didn't deserve it.

He rushed through the connecting bridge, so eager to get out of the cramped confines of the plane that he rocked back on his heels when he exited into the bustling main terminal. Castleton was a real Hylian city, not some backwater, dusty little hellhole where camels were the most advanced form of transportation. The colors and sounds and smells were so much more vivid here, the bustling throngs of people an almost elemental wave of humanity. People going about their lives, free and in good spirits, without the constant threat that someone might be smuggling a grenade in their satchel.

It wasn't like he was expecting an actual attack here in his home town. But old habits die hard. He scanned the crowd, taking in the scene with his trained eyes, even as he found the ease to relax and enjoy it. This was home.

Three figures caught his attention, standing amongst the ring of people waiting expectantly for the rest of his flight to disembark. There was a muted cheer from two of the figures, one holding up a sign with his name stenciled in large font, while the second momentarily disappeared.

A flash of pink, yellow, and black darted through the crowd, looking for all the world like a giant deranged honey-bee as the girl threw herself at Link's chest with a wordless cry. He grunted at the impact but wrapped his free arm around her waist, which only encouraged her to coil her arms and legs around his torso.

"Saria, c'mon," he sighed as his sister clung to him like a limpet. "I just got out of the hospital a couple weeks ago. Go easy on me for a little while."

The girl clinging to his chest blew out a disappointed breath, sliding down to the floor. "_Fiiine,_" she said, taking a step back and tilting her head up to look him in the eyes. Way up.

At four-foot-ten and ninety pounds soaking wet, Link out-massed her by more than twice, towering over her with his six-foot-three frame. He had regularly carried ruck sacks that weighed more than she did. She was 24 years old, a year younger than himself, but she looked like a girl half her age, much to her continued chagrin.

"You look funny with short hair," Saria said, reaching up on the tips of her toes to ruffle his high-and-tight cut.

"Yeah, well you're not exactly normal yourself," he countered with a grin. "Neon pink with yellow streaks? Really? Are you _trying_ to give me epilepsy?"

Saria gave a girlish giggle and swept a hand threw her tawdry locks. "You like? I wanted blue instead of yellow since I was aiming for a cotton-candy look, but they were sold out," she pouted. "Honestly, who else around here besides me uses that much blue hair-dye?"

Saria had been dying her hair since as long as he could remember, even before she had been able to earn the money to buy proper hair products. He wasn't even sure what her original hair color was. He assumed brown, but he had seen so many shades of that color alone, from chestnut to sienna, that he wasn't quite sure. It might have been green for all he knew.

Her style of dress was equally eccentric, with lots of sparkling beads and black frilly lace, complete with a fitted corset. She had chosen yellow and pink ribbons to accent her hair, which ran up her sides, down her arms, and through her elbow-length fingerless gloves.

A pair of silvery, gossamer wings completed the ensemble. Link could hear a tiny motor whirring away between her shoulder blades, causing the wings to slowly open and close. Samhain was still over a month away. This was just how she dressed year-round.

A gothic pixie princess. A sugar-plum vampire. She made it work, somehow.

"What's with the duds?" she asked, fingering the course fabric of his uniform. "I thought you were already out of the service?"

He looked down. He had worn his dress greens for the flight, seeing as it was technically the last time he would be able to wear them in public. If there was one thing the Royal Marines were fond of, it was tradition, and as a result the style hadn't changed much in a couple hundred years. He wasn't sure when it was officially adopted as the HRMC dress uniform. Since the advent of gunpowder at least.

They were comfortable, if utilitarian. The one problem he had with them was that the bottom quarter of the blouse flared out and in the right light (like, say, at a dimly lit club whilst attempting to earn the affections of a pretty girl) they ended up looking like the world's shortest mini-skirt. There was a reason that "The Dress Uniform" was regularly shortened, derisively, to just "The Dress."

"I thought I'd give them one last hurrah before I retire them for good," he said. "But I'm starting to think that was a mistake."

He ignored his sister's curious look, and gestured towards the crowd as he continued walking. "You didn't tell me you were bringing friends."

They wound their way through the crowd, finally coming to the two other figures he had seen. The taller of the two was a powerfully built man, ex-military by the looks of it. Finely dressed, he stood towards the back with his hands crossed, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, which looked ridiculous indoors. Link didn't know the man personally, but he was very familiar with his type. He would have no less than three weapons on him, never-mind the normal security procedures at the airport terminal, and even if he were to be disarmed any would-be assailant would likely just be beaten to death with his own weapon. Two more like him would be circling farther out, likely disguised in civilian dress. Harkinian Enterprises did not skimp on security for their heir apparent.

The other figure was much more familiar. Champagne blonde hair was tied back in a simple plaited style that swept down to her shoulders, the tips dyed black in the only form of protest she could readily express. Thin wire-frame glasses rested on a dainty nose, covering long lashes and a pair of eyes the color of the summer sky. She was dressed conservatively, never having been comfortable in flaunting her wealth with the latest fashions, and her winter jacket even appeared second-hand.

Link came to a stop a short distance in front of her, letting her bodyguard get comfortable with him. She held the sign low in front of her, as if unsure of what to do with it now that it had served its purpose.

"Hey there," she finally said.

"Hey yourself, princess," he replied with a smirk.

Zelda sighed in disgust, letting her hands fall to her sides. "I was hoping you would have forgotten that by now," she said, then held out her arms. "Come here, you idiot."

She acted like a normal young woman, but her full name was Zelda Harkinian, heir to the Harkinian fortune, assuming her father hadn't had her excommunicated. Judging by the imposing bodyguard behind her, that hadn't happened yet, but with Zelda it was always a close thing.

If there was a princess of the city of Castleton, it was Zelda. Her father was the founder, majority shareholder, and current CEO of Harkinian Enterprises, which had its fingers in everything from pharmaceuticals to weapons manufacturing to computer software and ultimately employed nearly ten percent of the entire city's workforce. "Rich" did not even begin to describe her. She could have bought the entire airport, and it wouldn't have made a noticeable dent in her trust fund.

And yet, here she was, "slumming with the plebs" as Saria had once put it. It turned out that running such a successful company left Mr. Harkinian little time to devote to his own daughter. What had initially started as rebelliousness in an effort to gain her father's attention had several times in the past come close to full-blown civil war between the two. It was a constant trade-off between what Mr. Harkinian would allow and what Zelda could get away with, and Link suspected that she liked it that way, if only because her father was finally paying some attention to her.

When Zelda was young, what had started as a runaway attempt had briefly landed her at the same orphanage that Link and Saria were raised in. Even after the limousine and police escort came to take her away, she had managed to sneak past her guards at least once a month to come visit, and the friendship had remained firm ever since.

Secretly, Link had had a crush on her a long time ago, back when they were children. Back then she had seemed so perfect, and yet so far out of reach. Then after he had graduated secondary school he joined the Royal Marines, and the rest was history.

The old feelings were still there as he moved in to hug her, but quieter now, tempered into a fond friendship. Both of them carefully ignored the slight tensing of the bodyguard behind her. The faint, fruity scent of her hair, her arms hooked around his chest … it was familiar. He needed familiar right now.

"How are you, Zel?" he asked quietly.

"Me?" She blinked and pulled back, surprised that he would ask. "I'm fine. I'm not the one who got blown up. How are _you?_"

"Ah, I'm not dead yet, so I guess it's a good day," he replied dryly.

Saria ducked her head beneath Link's elbow, wrapping a slender arm around his waist. "Are you kidding? Link's immortal, remember? Or are you forgetting that time he fell off the roof of the orphanage?" She looked up at Link. "Speaking of which, can we go eat? The food court has an awesome pizza place I wanna try."

Zelda frowned, confused. "How did you even connect … no, never mind." She shook her head with a sigh and adjusted her glasses. Saria's mind just worked liked that sometimes. She turned back to Link. "You had us all worried you know, when we first heard about it. Saria even showed us the pictures."

"What?" he said in shock. He had seen some of the pictures himself, and he hadn't recognized the person lying in the hospital bed in some of them. In fact, they had had to open a small hole in his skull at one point to relieve the intracranial pressure, and he had been surprised to learn that someone had had the free time to photograph him mid-operation.

"Oh yeah, even the ones before they dug the shrapnel out of your face," Saria said, nodding enthusiastically. She threw up a pair of horns with her fingers and lowered her voice to a gravely pitch. "You were _totally_ metal."

Link reached up, rubbing at the faint trace of scar tissue on his upper and lower jaw. The doctors had done an excellent job patching his face up. Most people could barely even tell he had facial scars unless he grew his beard out. He was reminded though, every time he had to look in the mirror to shave.

They said he was lucky that the shrapnel hadn't torn across what the doctors called the vermillion border – the darker portions of his lips – which would have left him with noticeable clefts that were nearly impossible to fix properly. As it was he found that the only real downside now was that the scar tissue tugged at the corner of his mouth when he smiled, leaving him with the look of a perpetually amused half-grin.

"I told them to just take a little off the top," he said, referring to the pictures. "Turns out a barber doesn't do surgeries anymore. Who'd have thought?"

"Well, if you can make bad jokes about it, then I guess you'll be okay," Zelda said, tucking the sign beneath her arm. "Come on, let's go get your luggage."

"_Then_ can we go eat?" Saria asked imploringly.

Link chuckled, giving his sister's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Sure, Saria. I'll buy."

"Woo_hoo!_"

* * *

Check the bottom of my profile for a special update regarding this story.

_Ciao!_  
Raynre Valence – Sage of Time


	2. Chapter 2

_The Live House_

**Author's Notes:**

Feed the author! Remember to read and review!

* * *

-= Chapter 2 =-

* * *

They waited for almost half an hour around the baggage carousel, mostly spent listening to Saria recount the various exploits of her circle of techie friends. The three of them kept their eyes peeled for Link's military issue green duffel bag, but the carousel was quickly cleared by other passengers, and the alarm sounded before it appeared. A quick trip to the help desk confirmed that it had, in fact, been moved to a later flight that wouldn't be arriving for another four hours. Since no one wanted to stick around until midnight, they opted to pick it up in the morning.

Link sighed. First one off of the plane, last one out of the airport. Such was his life.

They headed for the food court, Saria skipping ahead of them and dancing through the crowd with glee before quickly returning, her hands extended expectantly. Link rolled his eyes and peeled out a red-hued bill from his wallet, pointedly ignoring the out-thrust lip and lost-puppy eyes she threw his way.

"Don't be greedy," he said, holding tightly to the 20 rupee bill as she grabbed ahold of the other end. "I don't know when I'll be able to find a job and I won't be able to draw on my GI Bill until the spring semester, so until further notice I'm in conservation mode."

"Yessa, boss. Thankyee, boss." Saria said, bowing low. Link held both her gaze and the rupee note until she rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Link. I'm the last person you need to talk to about wasting money."

"Just making sure," he said, releasing the bill. She squealed gleefully, tackling him with a hug that rocked him back on his heels before turning and running for the pizza parlor.

"Don't gorge yourself," he called after her. "And I want my change back!"

"You know me," she called back, her wings fluttering as she disappeared into the crowd.

He shook his head, and said to Zelda, "That's why I'm worried."

She smiled. "You two are so alike. I wonder if you'd get along so well if you were actually related."

He thought about that as he scanned the food court, deciding on what to eat. "Maybe that's the secret. If we were blood related we'd probably be driving each other up the wall."

"Maybe," she admitted, then hooked her arm through his elbow and steered him towards a chain restaurant with a short line. A sign over the counter depicted a cartoon chicken holding a head of lettuce over its head, from which emitted radiant, golden rays of light. "Come on, I'm feeling like chicken today."

He scanned the menu, scowling at the sparse selection. "Still on that diet?" he asked.

"I prefer to call it a lifestyle," she replied, poking him in the stomach. "We're not all blessed with perfect genes. Some people actually have to work for their figure."

"Yeah right. You're 15 pounds underweight, if anything. I'll bet you don't weigh much more than Saria."

Zelda sighed. "I should be so lucky," she said, then stepped up to order her food.

Link shook his head in wonder. Zelda had never been happy with her figure, even though what he had said was true. Healthy was good, he respected healthy. But there _was_ such a thing as too thin. _Women..._

He decided on a chicken burger, as it was the closest thing to real food they offered on the menu. They collected their orders and made their way to a table near the center of the food court so that they would be easy for Saria to spot when she returned.

When they took their seats, Link noticed that the bodyguard hadn't ordered anything. "Not hungry?" he asked.

All he received in reply was a blank stare. At least, he assumed the man was staring at him. He wasn't quite sure with the sunglasses.

"I've never actually seen Winken eat anything," Zelda said, then shielded her mouth with her hand and said in an exaggerated stage whisper, "I think he's secretly a robot."

"_Winken?_" Link asked, looking again at the guard. He didn't look like a 'Winken.'

Zelda nodded, tearing open a packet of ranch dressing and slathering it over her chicken Caesar salad. "Since they never tell me their names, I have to make them up myself. This one is Winken, the bald one," she gestured towards a similarly dressed, dark-skinned guard standing by the windows, "I've dubbed Blinken, and that one," she pointed towards a man in a bright flower-print shirt and shorts, "is Nod."

Her bodyguard finally spoke, his voice a mellow bass. "Miss Harkinian, please do not point out your security detail. It makes our jobs more difficult."

"Wouldn't want that now," she said sarcastically, and dug into her salad. "When was the last time someone tried to have me abducted or killed? Oh, right, never."

Link glanced around. Good to know that he still remembered her bodyguard's operating procedures, but he worried about what that said about their effectiveness if they hadn't changed their routine in over seven years. "Nod does know the temperature's supposed to hit low 40s tonight, right?"

"I told you. Robots," Zelda said, waving a hand to catch Saria's attention.

The elfin girl slid into the seat next to Link, nudging his food over with a pizza box that was comically large in her small hands.

"Mmmm ... _pizza_..." Saria cooed happily, throwing open the box, revealing a pan crust pie smothered in toppings. Steam wafted out of the box, and then the smell of a hit them, causing Link to reconsider his choice of dinner as his mouth watered. It had been a _long_ time since he had had a decent pizza.

Saria dug in with her dainty hands, pulling out a particularly large slice, and inhaled deeply, reveling in every aspect of the experience. They watched with rapt attention as she carefully folded and maneuvered the oversized slice for optimal consumption, like docking a battleship dripping with sauce and gooey cheese. Her eyes rolled back theatrically as she finally took a bite. "_Mmmmm_..."

Zelda sighed and went back to eating her salad.

"Did you have to order a large?" Link asked.

Saria paused, halfway to taking another bite, and gave him a blank, uncomprehending stare. "I … I don't understand the question," she said, then went back to enjoying her pizza.

They chatted about school over dinner. Saria and Zelda both went to the same university, Castleton U, though where Saria was enrolled in their computer sciences program, Zelda was busy earning her Masters degree in their business college.

"I thought your father had wanted you to enroll at a private college?" Link asked.

"Yes, well, I told daddy where he could stick his college legacy at Hy-Tech. I managed to talk him into letting me enroll here, but in return I have to major in business," her voice deepened in an imitation of her father, "'To ensure the profitable future of our family heritage.'

"He seems to think that I'll be taking over the family business someday." She continued as she picked at her salad with her fork, her eyes downcast. "Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if it was really worth it or if I just got the short end of the stick on this one."

Link wasn't sure what to say. He still wasn't familiar enough with the last seven years of his friend's lives to make a judgment call either way.

He was about to offer his support when Zelda's phone trilled. She glanced at the caller ID, her eyes narrowing. "Speaketh of the Devil, and he shall call your cell. One mo," she said, turning away as she hit the call icon.

"Hi Daddy," she said, her voice artificially perky. "There's only two reasons why you'd bother calling me, and they haven't found the bodies yet, so let me make this quicker for the both of us. No, I will not talk to your corporate stooge in the morning. I will not meet him for coffee, breakfast, lunch, or any other meal. I will not reply to his emails – I'm _extremely_ pissed that you gave him my private email address, by the way – and I will most _certainly_ not be sending him a demo. Love you, Daddy." And before the most powerful man in the city could get a word in edge-wise, she hung up and slammed the phone down on the table, rubbing at her temple with her free hand. The conversations at the tables closest to them ceased as people turned to stare at the commotion.

"Zelda's father has been bugging her to try auditioning for some record executive," Saria explained into the sudden silence around them.

Zelda swept her hair back and exhaled slowly. "Yes, but you've not even heard the worst of it yet. Apparently he hired someone to sneak into the studio and plant a miniature camera to record me at my last session. This jackass that he's trying to get me to talk to sent me an email with a ten-second clip and virtually demanded that I come and talk to him about signing a record deal."

Saria blanched. "Jeez, talk about a sleazo move."

Link's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, wow. I didn't even know you played an instrument."

Saria nodded. "Oh yeah, we were in the same music class together a couple years ago. She's great with a guitar, but her _voice_," she sighed wistfully. "You'll just have to hear it for yourself, Link. I'm talking multi-platinum material here."

Zelda's cheeks had picked up a slight tinge. She quickly waved the compliments away. "Anyway, you know how I feel about taking gifts from my father. There's always strings attached, and I'm not going to give him any more chances to take control of my life."

Her voice turned bitter. "Besides, the label he wants to set me up with mainly aims for the kids pop market. How pathetic is that? Here I am, 24 years old and a year away from my Master's, and they're trying to set me up as the next tween sensation."

"Eww," Saria said, sympathetic. "I was going to say you should reconsider, but never mind."

Zelda nodded ruefully. "It's perfect for my father; he doesn't listen to it, so he wouldn't have to actually care, and it's just wholesome enough that he figures I wouldn't be able to get into any trouble." She sighed. "It's a mess. He thinks he can dictate everything about my life, even my hobbies. But he doesn't have any leverage at the moment, so I can hold him off. For now."

Saria patted her hand in sympathy. There really wasn't more that needed to be said.

Link held up a finger. "One question," he said.

"Yeah?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You were kidding about the bodies, right?"

For the first time that evening, Zelda threw back her head and laughed.

* * *

Saria somehow managed to polish off the entire pizza, even playfully snapping at Link's fingers when he reached over to steal a slice. After they finished eating, they disposed of their trash and made their way towards the parking garage.

"I think I gained ten pounds just by watching you eat that," Zelda said, rubbing a hand along her stomach as if she could feel the extra weight. "I don't know where you put it all. Your metabolism is insane. I wish I could maintain my figure as easily as you can. If I had just eaten that much, I'd be in a food coma."

Saria growled in frustration, momentarily losing the skip in her step. "Yeah, well, at least you have breasts," she muttered darkly.

Link shifted uncomfortably, and even Zelda's bodyguard seemed slightly put off by the direction the conversation had taken. They crossed over the skywalk and entered the parking garage on the north side of the airport, taking the elevator up to the fifth level.

As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, a lime-green four-door sedan pulled up to the curb and parked. Nod stepped out of the driver's seat, his flower-print shirt contrasting hideously with the vehicle as he held the driver's side door open. He looked uncomfortably aware of the fact.

Link looked at the paint job in mock horror. "Is everyone around here colorblind?"

"Nope," Zelda said brightly, twirling her keys around her finger. "It's just my little way of making sure that the Macho Squad is as uncomfortable as possible."

"I'm surprised they let you drive at all," Link said. "I seem to recall you arriving at school in a limo."

Zelda shrugged. "Father didn't like it at first, but I wore him down by demanding the highest CC crotch-rocket I could legally own. Our compromise this time was that if I got to drive, whatever I bought had to have room for the security detail." She flashed a wicked smile. "He never said anything about the color."

Link snorted in amusement. A small victory, but he knew Zelda would take what she could get.

"Here, let me get your cell number," Zelda said, flipping out her phone.

Link patted at his pockets. "Haven't bought a new one yet. Sorry."

It was Zelda's turn to show mock horror. "No cell phone? What, do you live in the Dark Ages or something?"

He shrugged. "My old one died over a year ago, and I just never got around to replacing it. Besides, there's not much use for one over in the sandbox."

Her demeanor turned somber. "Right. Well, Saria has my number when you get your own phone. I'll stop by the Live House once you've gotten yourself settled in."

"Live House?" Link asked.

Saria rolled her eyes. "You don't actually read your emails, do you? It's the place I know that will set you up with a cheap room to rent."

He frowned at the name. "It's not some sort of … hippie commune, is it?"

Saria snorted. "Please. Give me _some_ credit. The hippie commune is next door," she said, then turned and jogged off between the vehicles, calling over her shoulder, "I'll go bring the car around. Bye, Zelly!"

"See you later, Saria," Zelda called after her.

She turned and drew him in for a hug. "It's great seeing you again. I'm glad you made it back safe and sound. Take care of yourself, and I'll see you soon."

"You too, Zel," he said, enjoying the hug while it lasted. Eventually though, it ended, and she drew back, but not before leaning upwards and planting a quick peck on his cheek.

The last member of her party materialized out of the stairwell as she turned and stepped into her car. Her bodyguard quickly filled the remaining seats. Zelda revved the engine, and they drove off before the doors had even finished closing.

Link didn't have to wait long before Saria reappeared. A small two-door hatchback pulled up, trailing a thin pall of blue vapor from its exhaust as it ground to a stop. The red paint was dull and faded, and in several spots it had worn through to the bare steel underneath, revealing streaks of rust. The rearmost window on the driver's side had been taped up, and the words 'Punk Princess' had been spelled out in luminescent decals along the top of her back window. A pair of black fuzzy dice hung from the rear-view mirror.

Link held his sleeve over his nose as the exhaust plume enveloped him. He had a feeling that the environmentalists would be throwing a fit if they knew she was driving such a beat up old fossil around town.

"Don't say a word," she said as he climbed into the front seat. He tossed his backpack into the back seat, managing at the last instant to avoid crushing her discarded wings.

"No, no, it's nice," he said, holding back a laugh as he buckled his seat belt. "It fits the starving artist persona perfectly."

She punched him in the arm and pulled out, the engine coughing as it shifted gears, leaving a thin cloud of blue vapor behind them.

* * *

Hyrule Technical. Hy-Tech. Ah, I crack myself up sometimes.

_Ciao!_  
Raynre Valence – Sage of Time


	3. Chapter 3

_The Live House_

**Author's Notes:**

Another chapter in what has turned into an interesting practice in procrastination. Here we meet the third of our trio of lovely ladies. Enjoy.

* * *

-= Chapter 3 =-

* * *

It was only a short drive up the beltway into the south side of Castleton. Link watched the city flash by through the rain-speckled windows with interest as they swept around the curve of the off-ramp, coming out into the old harbor district on the Hylia Bay waterfront. He was familiar with the area, although growing up he had mostly stayed towards the eastern side of town near Lake Olympia.

This particular section of the city was a curious mixture of high-class waterfront property intermixed with lower-class private businesses and residential neighborhoods. People mingled on the sidewalks in the early evening, most of them hunched over for warmth against the light rainfall. But even that wasn't enough to stop the local nightlife.

As he watched he could see the subtle signs of decay that the current depression had wrought. Several buildings had windows that were broken, or were even boarded up altogether, clearly abandoned. Graffiti was rare, but still more visible than he remembered.

He turned in his seat and looked at his sister, who was tapping a staccato beat on the steering wheel as she drove. She had changed in the last seven years, though he wasn't quite sure how to describe it. 'Mature' wasn't quite right, given her attire and the way she acted. _Seasoned, _he decided. No longer was she an innocent secondary schooler who couldn't decide what to major in in college. There was a confidence that she had not had before, a level of certainty. She had faced the world, and found her place in it, or at least had a very good idea of where she was heading.

"So tell me about this 'Live House'," he said.

"It's a bar," she replied, adding after a moment's thought, "Sort of."

"Sort of a bar?" he asked mildly. "I've never been to sort of a bar before."

He didn't have anything against bars, but he'd never developed the taste for alcohol that seemed to be so common in the military. Even so – or perhaps especially because of which – he had regularly been volunteered as the designated driver for furloughs at foreign ports, so he had visited his fair share over the years. They tended to be loud, rowdy places, and he wasn't sure that was the sort of place he wanted to be sleeping at.

"It's actually three businesses in one," she said, turning onto another street. "More of an old-fashioned pub, really, but I'm sure you'll like it. It's hard to describe though. I'll just let the owner tell you about it when we get there."

"Fair enough," he said, and went back to watching the streets.

Eventually they slowed and Saria leaned across to point out his rain-streaked window. "Here we are."

The front of the building at street level was taken up by large picture windows, with heavy drapes shading the interior. Three stories high, it was taller than most other buildings in the area, and it looked as if someone had somehow managed to crane an old motorhome on top of the roof. Link wondered idly what kind of hell they must have gone through with the local homeowners association.

It shared a parking lot with another business next door that had rainbow tie-dye drapes in the windows, a sign over the door declaring it as some sort of new-age apothecary. Apparently Saria hadn't been kidding about the hippies living right next door. They pulled in, a bright flash of color on the wall catching his eye before Saria turned into a parking spot.

Once parked, Link stepped out of the vehicle and shouldered his backpack. Saria dashed towards the front of the building as if the light rain would melt her hair, but Link stopped, taking in the mural that covered the lower two stories of the wall facing the parking lot.

Fanciful designs decorated the borders, mostly of various instruments and musical symbols. A large sign declaring this as "The Live House" was painted in the upper left corner, with an arrow pointing down towards a sunken entrance to the basement level, its window dark.

At the center of the mural was the striking figure of a young woman gripping a mic stand, her mouth open wide as if singing in defiance into the microphone as a voluminous cloud of golden-red hair billowed out behind her. The painting ended just before it reached her eyes, leaving the young woman incognito.

Even under the harsh streetlights, the artistry was amazing, though the mural was obviously old. The paint was faded from years of exposure to the sun, and mold, dirt, and car exhaust had turned several large portions dark and hazy.

He turned and joined his sister, who had found shelter beneath the low overhang at the front of the building. She had her arms crossed for warmth and rocked from foot to foot. "Hurry up," she whined, glaring at him as if he controlled the weather. "It's freezing out here."

"It's not _that_ cold."

"It is for me. I have, like, zero body fat compared to the rest of you normals," she said.

"Then you should have dressed more warmly," he replied, earning a scoff as he reached for the door.

The door cracked into his outstretched hand, and he stepped back, shaking away the sudden stab of pain in his wrist. A large, older man stood in the doorway, his bearded face a perturbed scowl as he placed a short-brimmed fedora on his head. He took in the two younger adults in front of him, hefted a large guitar case on his shoulder, and roughly pushed past Link.

"Outta my way, kid," he growled, walking towards the parking lot.

"Friendly bunch around here," Link observed as they watched the man depart.

Saria sighed. "They're actually really nice, all except for Gaepora. He mostly keeps to himself, but if you get in his way he'll bite your head off. We've learned to avoid him when we can."

"No law against being rude, I guess," Link said, then stepped into the bar.

It was much in line with what he had imagined. A small waiting area near the front, a large bar in the back lined with stools, with numerous tables scattered around the brightly lit interior. There were no TVs set to the inevitable sports channels though, and instead of the traditional large mirror or racks of liquor behind the bar the back wall opened into what was obviously a restaurant-quality kitchen.

About a half dozen patrons were scattered around, several of them eating meals that were an order of magnitude better than what Link was accustomed to in a bar. Speakers set near the ceiling were set low, piping out a slow, crooning rock ballad. The smell of cooking food mixed with the faint scent of pine freshener filled the air. Definitely a big improvement from what he was used to.

The man behind the bar looked up as the bell over the front door jingled at their entrance. He was a bit shorter than average, well-dressed with a slight paunch. He was balding, though what hair he had was long and tied back in a ponytail. The multi-hued rings of tattooed skin around both wrists that disappeared beneath his sleeves were the only sign that he didn't belong in a corporate office somewhere.

His smile was well-practiced, but no less authentic. "Ah, Saria. Welcome."

"Hey pops," she said in greeting, brushing past Link and taking a seat at the bar. "Not opening the basement tonight?"

The man shrugged. "You know how it is; Thursdays are usually our slowest nights. We don't have anyone scheduled until tomorrow," he said, then turned, giving Link the once-over. "So, this is your brother I take it? The soldier?"

"Link Veredus. _Former_ soldier, now," he said, holding out his hand across the bar.

"Talon Barten," he said, giving Link a firm handshake. "Former soldier myself, though I was an Army intel puke, not a jarhead."

"Well, I won't hold that against you," Link replied, earning a laugh from Talon. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Talon snorted. "_'Sir,'_ he says. Please. I actually worked for a living. Just call me Talon, Mr. Barten, _pops_," he threw a distasteful look at Saria, "Whatever you're comfortable with."

"Yes, sir."

"You probably shouldn't bother," Saria interjected before Talon could say anything, reaching for a small bowl of shelled peanuts. "He's one of _those_ people."

Link glared at Saria before turning back to Talon. "I understand that Saria is friends with your daughter," he said.

Talon nodded. "One of them at least; my oldest, Malon. I have three, and they're a handful. They're around here somewhere, probably upstairs in their rooms," he said, and looked Link up and down. "So, Saria says you need a place to live. As I'm sure you've been told, I've got a spare room to rent if you haven't found anything else. The fact that you're here tells me you haven't, so the offer is still open if you're interested."

"I am," Link said, "But I'm not sure how much I can afford at the moment."

"Mm. He needs a job, too." Saria said, chewing.

Talon sighed. "Tell you what," he said, "I really can't afford to hire anyone else at the moment, but we're short-handed around here. If you do some work around the pub for a couple hours a day, maybe occasionally run some errands, I'll knock a bit off of your rent. Fair deal?"

Link nodded. "Fair enough."

Talon turned and called into the kitchen. "Hey, Ingo!"

"_What?_" Ingo called back.

"Come mind the bar, I've got to run upstairs for a while."

They could hear grumbling for a moment, then Ingo appeared, wiping his hands clean with a rag. Where Talon was short and paunchy, Ingo was tall and almost painfully thin, though with the same dark, balding hair pulled back into a pony-tail. He pulled off his apron and took Talon's position at the bar.

"My brother, Ingo," Talon said, introducing Link. They shook hands curtly.

Talon smiled. "Don't mind him, he's not a people person. Well, time to give you the grand tour I guess."

He gestured for them to follow, talking as he lead them around to the back of the dining area. "You've seen the pub. We're not some typical sports bar, since we actually care about what we feed our guests. I liked the atmosphere of the pubs while I was stationed overseas and I tried to recreate that here. But this is mostly just to finance my other hobbies, which don't always pay out on a regular basis. Especially in recent years."

A stairwell was tucked around the corner, leading both up and down, with a sign strung across the way down that said 'Authorized Personnel Only'.

"The stairway is semi-private," Talon explained as he led them upstairs to the second floor. "No one but the people working here and special guests are allowed to use the stairs down to the basement. Bedrooms are up on the third floor, and I'm sure you saw the old tour bus we parked on the roof, but I'll show you all of that later."

At the top of the second floor landing were two doors and a long, featureless hallway that nearly spanned the length of the building.

"Only paying customers are allowed on the second floor, and then only if they're here for the studios. If they can't sing or don't have an instrument, then they don't belong up here."

Talon opened one of the doors and flicked a row of light switches, then stepped aside, letting Link take a look.

It was much like he had seen in the movies. A worn, comfortable looking black leather couch stretched across the back wall for observers, while a single red chair with wheels was tucked beneath the center console. The recording console was covered with hundreds of buttons and levers, and several speakers and computer monitors were scattered around, all of the screens dark.

A large bay window dominated the wall over the control console, a door to the side opening into a spacious, nearly empty room. Ribbed panels lined the walls, instantly recognizable as sound-proofing material. A stool and a music stand sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by several microphones that hung from the ceiling.

"So this is what Zelda meant when she said she was at a studio," Link said. "Very cool."

"Oh! That reminds me..." Saria exclaimed, and darted into the sound-proof room, the door slowly swinging shut behind her. They watched as she began looking around, paying particular attention to the dark corners.

Link looked to Talon, ignoring his sister's antics. "So you rent these out?"

"We're one of only three professional-grade independent recording studios in the entire city," Talon said, his chest swelling with pride. "Sometimes people want the quality without jumping through all the hoops required to score a record contract. Sometimes amateurs just want a demo recording that they can pitch to the major labels. We take all kinds here."

"You don't have trouble with the recording studio being directly beneath the bedrooms?" Link asked.

Talon jerked a thumb at the walls. "Best sound proofing you could buy thirty years ago. Which means it's crap compared to today's stuff, but we shut down the studios at nine, so it's not like it's keeping us up at night."

He turned back towards the bay window and frowned. "Now what in the world is that girl doing?"

Saria had picked up the music stand by the base and was waving it at a light fixture near the ceiling in the back corner of the room. It wobbled precariously in her grip as she poked at the light, but eventually a small metallic shape tumbled to the floor. She cheered, silently from their perspective, and replaced the music stand before leaving the room.

"What did you find?" Link asked.

She smiled and held the object up for his inspection. It was a pin-hole video camera, about the same size and shape as a standard ball-point pen. "I've got a new toy to play with," she said gleefully. "I guess the goon that was recording Zelda was never able to come back to retrieve his equipment."

Talon frowned. "Someone was recording Zelda while she played?"

Link frowned as well. "That doesn't make sense. There's no way that thing is wireless. He must have been in here multiple times to retrieve it and stash it again."

Talon's eyes took on a faraway look. "There was a new guy who's been coming by the last couple of weeks. He sounds terrible, but he pays, so who am I to say no? But if he's spying on my daughter's friends, I'll kick his ass out on the sidewalk the next time I see him."

Saria shook her head. "No, leave this one to me, pops," she said, flipping the camera between her fingers. "I think I can turn this around in our favor once I've tinkered with it a little."

"What do you have in mind?" Link asked.

Saria cocked her head and looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. Her grin, however, was purely malicious. "Do you _reeeeally_ want to know?"

"Not anymore."

Talon laughed, then waved them out of the room and flicked off the lights. "So yeah, that's about it for this floor. The other room is the exact same, so I won't waste your time," He said, then pointed at a door at the far end of the hallway. "That's the storage locker. I doubt you'll ever need to get in there, but if we need you to run up here real quick and grab something, only myself, Ingo, and my oldest daughter Malon have keys."

Just then the sound of something heavy hitting the floor upstairs caused Link to tense. Angry yelling followed, both male and female voices muffled by the floorboards.

"And _that_ would be my daughter Malon," Talon said, shaking his head as the screaming match continued, followed by more thumping. "She'd better not be putting more holes in the wall..."

"Malon's been having boyfriend troubles lately," Saria added helpfully.

Link smiled. "No kidding." He had been in war zones that were quieter.

They listened to the incomprehensible tirade for several long moments before a door slammed shut and the argument ceased. A few seconds later a boy around Link's age stomped down the stairs. Link caught a flash of a slim build and dirty blonde hair a shade lighter than his own, then he was past.

Talon turned to them. "So, let me show you your room," he said brightly, and led them upstairs.

The third floor was similar to the second, though six doors lined the hall instead of two. Talon pointed them out as they passed. "Mine, and my two youngest daughters. Ingo's, and more storage past that. This one's Malon's, and this," he said as they came to the last room, "Will be yours. It's small, but it's more than livable."

He opened the door and allowed the two siblings to walk in first.

The room was already furnished, which alleviated some of the apprehension that he had been feeling. A dresser, a nightstand, and a computer desk were arranged around the walls. The single twin bed was freshly made, and a spare towel sat on top of the pillow.

A window set in the far wall showed the pebbled rooftop of the business next door. Farther out, past the seemingly endless stretch of buildings, he could just barely see the distant peak of a solitary snow-capped mountain. Not the best view in the world, but definitely better than he was used to.

Link opened the closet, surprised at the amount of space for such a "small" room. Marines were used to much more cramped living conditions, regularly making do with open-bay barracks stacked wall-to-wall with bunk. He knew that the Navy guys had it even worse, and regularly refereed to their sleeping arrangements as "coffins." He almost didn't know what to do with so much space.

Saria, of course, made straight for the computer desk in the far corner, bending down to inspect the wall. She popped back up and gave Link a thumbs-up. "Ethernet socket in the wall. You're good to go."

Link turned to Talon. "So, I suppose I should ask about price."

"I thought we'd make it an even 400 rupees a month, same deal I gave my daughter. Utilities are all included," Talon said.

Link blinked in surprise. "You make your daughter pay rent?"

Talon shrugged. "I'm a firm believer in tough love. I'll feed and clothe them until they're 21, then it's a kiss on the cheek and a boot out the door, because the free ride's over." he said, then continued his earlier train of thought. "Internet is included, as long as you're not devouring my bandwidth. Food's up to you, but you'll have free run of the kitchen if you can cook. I'll get Ingo to show you around later."

Link sucked on his teeth. The price was fair – more than fair, extremely generous, really – and it wasn't likely that he would be able to find anything near the size for the same price within the city limits. But it was still a good chunk of change when he didn't have an immediate source of income.

"Sounds fair enough," Link said, holding out his hand. They shook on it.

"We'll start you off at the beginning of next month, so you have about a week to get settled in," Talon said.

"Sounds great. I appreciate it," Link replied.

"Excellent. Well, the shared bath is through that door," Talon said, pointing to the only other door in the room. "If you need anything, just come find someone to bother. Welcome to the madhouse, Link."

He turned and left. Link dropped his pack on his bed, sitting beside it, suddenly tired. Saria sat next to him, bouncing on the firm mattress.

"I do good?" she asked, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"You did great," he replied, ruffling her hair. She slapped his hand away playfully.

"I think I'll like it here," he continued. "And the Castleton U dorms are only, what? A 15 minute drive?"

"Zelda makes it in ten," Saria replied, kicking her feet. "But she's a speed demon."

"Well, I'll be on foot for the foreseeable future, but I'll probably be stopping by so often that you'll get sick of me."

"No way!" she exclaimed. "I've built up a mystique over the years. I can't just have random guys dropping by and ruining it. If you want company you can just call and I'll be over as soon as— oh wait," her eyes went wide, and her voice dropped to a mocking monotone, "You don't have a phone. Sucks to be you, I guess."

He pushed her over on the bed. "Punk."

"Poser," she replied.

"Bitch."

"Pin-cushion."

"Your hair scares small children."

"Learn to duck next time."

They dissolved into laughter. She leaned against him again, and as they calmed down, she said quietly, "I'm glad you made it back safe and sound."

"Safe, at least. We're still working on sound," he admitted, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and giving her a tender squeeze.

They sat like that for a little while, just listening to the sounds of the city in the distance, before she eventually darted up off the bed. "_Blegh._ Getting too mushy for my tastes," she said, sticking her tongue out. "Seriously though, you have my number, and I'm sure Mr. Barton has a phone around here somewhere if you ever need to get ahold of me. I'll coordinate with Zelda and we'll come visit soon."

"I look forward to it," Link said. They hugged once more, and she skipped out the room, closing the door behind her. He looked around, suddenly feeling very lonely.

"So what now?" he asked the empty room.

The room had no answer for him.

He unpacked his backpack, laying his laptop computer, hygiene kit, a manilla folder filled with his service and medical records, a spare change of clothes, and a couple of worn dog-eared paperbacks on top of the empty computer desk. He pulled off his dog-tags and laid those too on the desk. He surveyed the collection, realizing with a start that this was all he had left now. Except for his rucksack at the airport, which was mainly filled with clothes (and half of those unusable now, being uniforms), his entire life was collected on that small desk.

It was … dispiriting. He'd always had goals and ambitions to work towards, but now he had found himself violently wrenched off track. Everything he'd worked for in the last seven years was suddenly closed off, not the least of which his entire military career. Where did he start now that his life was a fresh slate?

He shook himself from his reverie. Falling into the sweet siren's call of depression and self-pity was enticing, but he'd been there before, and he had better things to do with his time. He needed to look towards the future, not back at the past._ Let's start with a quick shower and sleep,_ he decided, peeling off his uniform and undershirt.

He quickly performed his usual set of calisthenics that the therapists had prescribed, loosening scarred, taut muscles that were virtually frozen from the long flight before punching out a rapid-fire sequence of 50 push-ups. Freshly warmed up, he grabbed his towel and kit, and went to see what the bathroom looked like.

He opened the door, finding it austerely furnished with a tub/shower on the left and a sink and toilet on the right. He set his kit on the toilet, looking around to see where he could hang his towel within reach so that he wasn't dripping all over the floor. Curiously, there was a second door on the far side of the small bathroom, opposite his own.

There were no hooks available. He was about to flip his towel over the shower curtain rail when the sound of a feminine voice humming caused him to turn around. He froze instantly, his pulse beating fast. A girl his age had backed into the bathroom from the opposite side, pushing the door open with her butt as she danced and mouthed words to a song only she could hear.

She wore a thin white undershirt and a blue pair of boys' short cut panties, revealing long legs and shapely curves. Her long auburn hair was pulled back and tied up in a loose bun. Earbuds hung from her ears, trailing down to an mp3 player tucked into the hem of her panties. A fanciful design of a bright blue sparrow with its wings open in flight was tattooed between her shoulder blades.

He swallowed nervously as she turned slightly and bent towards the sink, revealing her profile as she set down a towel and a clean change of clothes, and resisted the fierce urge to openly gawk as the sheer fabric stretched tight over alabaster skin.

_No bra..._

He wrenched his eyes upwards and waited patiently for her to remove the earbuds. There were a lot of ways this could go wrong and very few that it could go right.

Finally she pulled out her earbuds and began to turn, and for a brief instant he recognized his only chance.

"Think fast," he said, tossing his towel to her underhanded.

She squeaked in surprise, jumping nearly a foot in the air as she spun, and grabbed the towel out of reflex.

Sea-green eyes stared at him in shock over a patina of freckles sprinkled across an aquiline nose. He wasn't quite sure, but she bore a striking resemblance to the woman on the mural outside.

"Wh-who are you?" she asked, holding the towel protectively across her chest. "What are you doing in my bathroom?" She looked him up and down, suddenly noting his state of undress, uncertainty in her eyes that could easily morph into fear.

He crossed his hands loosely in front of him in a standard parade rest, what he hoped was a non-threatening posture. "My name's Link Veredus. I just got back from overseas. Your father is renting me the room next door."

"Oh," she said, realization dawning in her eyes. "_Oh._ Right. Saria's brother."

He nodded, quickly pressing on. "Nice to meet you … Malon, was it?"

"The same," Malon said, extending a hand to shake. The towel dropped a fraction, and it was only a pure force of will that kept his eyes fixed on hers as he shook her hand and quickly withdrew.

Her head cocked to the side. "Veredus, like the lake east of here?"

He smiled. "It's … where I'm from, originally," he said, giving her the short version. "I'm sorry to bump into you here. I was just about to take a shower before I crashed. I didn't know your room was connected on the other side."

Her cheeks flushed. "Oh! No, no, it's my fault. I'm sorry, I wasn't even paying attention. I'm so used to your room being empty that I never even lock the door anymore."

He smiled wryly and turned. "Well, I'll let you have first crack at the hot water..."

"No, please, go ahead," she said, reaching out to grip his forearm. Electric tingles worked their way up his arm, and he paused. "My father said you were flying in from overseas, so you must be exhausted."

He decided to try one last time. "Ladies first."

"Please, I insist."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she said, then turned, dropping his towel on the sink as she gathered up her clothes. "I'll just get out of your way."

She quickly ducked back through her door and Link sighed in relief. Crisis averted.

He locked her door, undressed, and stepped into the shower. A half-dozen feminine shampoos and body-washes lined the tub. _Should have been a tip-off right there,_ he thought.

The shower was quick and scalding, just as he liked it. The bathroom didn't even have time to fog properly before he stepped out of the tub and wrapped the towel around his waist. He gathered his kit, knocked on Malon's door, unlocked it, and quickly stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

A few moments later he heard the lock on his door click over, and the shower sprang to life. He carefully avoided dwelling on her current state of undress as he toweled off and reminded himself that she was already spoken for.

_Yeah, but things aren't so hot with her boyfriend right now,_ a darker part of him whispered. He draped his towel over the computer chair and tried to ignore his baser instincts, but it kept gnawing at him, constantly there in the back of his mind as he dove beneath the covers.

He realized with a start that a part of him was actually jealous of the guy that had rushed down the stairs earlier. He didn't get jealous easily.

Link scowled, but it quickly turned into a self-depreciating laugh. He was acting like a hormone-addled teenager again, and he didn't even know the girl beyond the fact that she was extremely easy on the eyes. He was going to be staying here for a while, so he had plenty of time to get to know her, and if it turned out that her personality didn't match what he saw on the outside then it wouldn't be such a great loss.

_Still, she's fucking gorgeous..._

His smile widened as he felt sleep begin to overtake him. Yeah, he could get used to living here.

* * *

_Ciao!_  
Raynre Valence – Sage of Time


	4. Chapter 4

_The Live House_

**Author's Notes:**

_Paradise Calling_ is still giving me trouble. So back to this one for a bit.

* * *

-= Chapter 4 =-

* * *

_Bullets cracked into the engine housing of the Humvee and splintered the remains of the windshield. Link threw himself into the back seat, biting back a curse as the pain in his neck spiked._

_There was no one in the seat behind his and the door was standing wide open. His thoughts were cloudy, jumbled, fear and anger roiling his gut. He whispered an apology to Jacobs and relieved him of his helmet and rifle. He wasn't going to need them anymore._

_The gunfire was sporadic, concentrated mostly on the burning hulk of the Stryker in front of him, but growing closer. It sounded like they were spraying down the remains of the convoy. One downside to the government's policy of non-negotiation with terrorists was that they hardly ever tried to parlay for ransom anymore. Survivors were not a priority here. _

_It was just that kind of war._

_He checked to make sure a round was chambered and flicked the safety off, setting the rifle to a three round burst. He carefully slid out of the open door, his eyes flickering rapidly between alleys and open windows and rooftops, anywhere that a lurking Jihadist could hide. Remnant flames licked at his boots, the sandy road blackened by the blast._

_He leaned around __the door ever-so slowly, his weapon tracking. Two figures with rifles stood near the remains of the Stryker. The shimmering haze from the heat and burning fuel shrouded them in darkness, and he held his fire, but when they began dragging a body from the wr__eckage by its feet he was certain. They were __**laughing**__, and a fiery rage welled up within him._

_He popped up, planting his rifle on the door. His aim was shit, his eyes swimming, but training and natural talent took over as he breathed out, held, and stroked the trigger. One, two, three bursts between the two and both figures fell._

_Gunfire erupted from several places at once, drawn to his own. He cursed and ducked back as the rounds cracked into the Humvee around him, but not before feeling a painful tugging sensation at his shoulder. He pressed his back against the tire well and fought to bring his rapid-fire pulse under control._

_**Shit.**__ He breathed hard, fighting against the rising panic. He couldn't stay here. He gasped as the pain finally flared in his trapezius, clenched a hand against it as blood began to soak his collar, his mind racing. There were five vehicles in the convoy. One of them had to have survived. He couldn't be the only one out here._

_He counted to three and bolted around the Humvee, crouched low, keeping it between him and the gunfire for as long as possible. Rounds cracked above his head, in some cases missing him by mere inches._

_He ran hard as soon as he was out of the shadow of the Humvee, his heavy combat boots pounding the sand, dragging at his feet. Frightened faces watched him from behind shrouded windows and cracked doorways. He clenched a hand against the wound in his shoulder, keeping pressure on it in an attempt to stem the steady flow of blood. He was tired, oh so tired, but he promised his aching body that he would rest when he was dead and pressed forward._

_He ducked behind the last Humvee in the convey – it's tires shredded and doors standing wide open – and slid into a alleyway just as bullets tracked across his position. He weaved around, over, and sometimes through piles of detritus as he ran. He needed to find shelter. A lone, wounded Marine wandering around the back alleys of Nowhere, Bum-fuckistan was an invitation for a lynching. Someone had to have gotten away, called in the ambush. It was only a matter of time until the entire Army came crashing down on this little backwater desert town._

_He could hear shouting in the distance, the angry snarl of "Allahu Akbar!" so familiar in the region. The hell with this. The alley was safe for the moment, but the second someone came around the corner it would become a firing range. He turned at the first door he came to and rammed his good shoulder into the flimsy wood. Stumbled as the frame around the lock splintered and collapsed into a breathless pile on the floor._

_A half dozen rifles swiveled in his direction…_

* * *

He inhaled sharply as his eyes snapped open. It took a moment for him to recognize the dark, unfamiliar room, but he managed to bring his breathing under control as he remembered the previous day. He closed his eyes and sunk back into the warm bedding, waiting until his tense muscles began to relax.

The '70s era clock next to his bed clicked over to 3:57 AM. He stared at it, willing himself back to sleep, but both his mind and heart were racing. The combination of his dreams and jetlag soon told him that he would not be getting any more sleep that night. He rolled out of bed, wincing against frozen, stiff muscles, and dressed in his civvies.

The bar was dark as he came down the stairs, the only light coming from the muted streetlamps filtering through the heavy window curtains. He flicked on the lights and rifled around behind the bar until he found what he was looking for; a telephone and, even better, a phone book. He flipped it open and ran a finger down the list of local cab companies until he found one that promised 24-hour service and accepted payment by credit card, then called the number. Luckily the taxi dispatcher knew of the Live House, so he didn't have to figure out his own address.

He left everything as he had found it, but paused at the front door when he realized that he didn't have a key to lock the deadbolt behind him. He locked the door handle, hoping that it would be enough to deter any would-be thieves, and made a mental note to ask Talon about getting a spare as he stepped into the chilly early-morning air.

A cab pulled up within five minutes and the ride to the airport was quick and uneventful. The sleepy-looking desk clerk for Loftwing Airways helped him find his pack with little trouble, and he made his way back outside to the loading area where he had left the cab.

He checked his watch. It was barely past 5AM. He had at least an hour or two to kill until the Bartens were awake and could let him back inside. He paid the cab driver and started walking north out of the airport. Once past the gates, he performed some mild stretches and cinched the straps on his bag down tight.

He ran. The neighborhood was quiet this time of night, the sky still ink black save for the city lights reflecting off of the clouds. The air was crisp and clean from the recent rainfall. A police siren sounded in the distance. Even at this time of night, the city was alive.

Running gave him a chance to stretch some sorely underutilized muscles, but it also gave him time to think. He'd been chasing the same problems around his head for a while now, ever since he woke up in the hospital. He wasn't sure he was any closer to finding the answers he needed.

Where did he go from here? What else did he have left in his life?

_Ilia…_

His gait faltered, but he drove his ex from his mind. Yet another trap in what had become a minefield of memories. He drove his legs harder, relishing the sweet fiery burn, pushing harder until his mind started to blank pleasantly from low oxygen. There was only the quiet serenity of the run, of matching his pace with his steady breathing.

Step-step-_in_. Step-step-_out_. Step-step-_in_.

His general level of fitness had taken a beating while he was laid up in the hospital, and he was barely into his third mile before he felt like pulling off to the side and vomiting. Mercifully he managed to hold back his gorge, but only just. He pulled up against the brick wall of a closed shop, panting, rage and frustration welling up within him at his body's weakness. There had been a time when he could run 10 miles with full ruck and hardly break a sweat. He punched at the wall, drawing beads of blood on his knuckles, but the rage was calmed somewhat. He hooked his arms over his head to ease his breathing and walked the rest of the way back to the Live House as he cooled off.

It was half past six when he arrived back. The lights were on inside, and when he peeked through the door he saw a young girl sitting behind the bar, kicking her feet as she ate a bowl of cereal. Her hair was the same auburn-red as Malon's, but she looked to be only nine or ten years old. One of her sisters, then.

He rapped lightly on the door. The girl at the counter looked up and blinked, then jumped off of the stool and disappeared behind the counter. He frowned. He hadn't been expecting that.

A moment later she reappeared and resumed her place at the bar as if she hadn't seen him. He was about to knock again when Malon appeared from the kitchen, wearing a muted blouse and skirt that ended at her knees. Her dress seemed to be color coordinated with the bar – patterns of dark burgundy, white, and red – which made sense when he thought about it. If she lived here then she probably worked here as well. She wiped her hands on her black apron and opened the door.

"Good morning," she said pleasantly. "I thought you'd still be asleep."

"Jet-lagged," he explained. "Couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd get my pack from the airport."

She blinked in surprise. "You walked all the way to the airport? I could have given you a ride if you'd asked."

"Didn't occur to me. Besides, I've been cooped up for too long and I felt like a run." As he stepped inside he inhaled appreciatively. "Smells good. You cooking breakfast?"

"I normally do. Ingo's the king of barbeque, but he can't cook an omelet to save his life. Would you like some?"

"Please."

She twirled in place, which did pleasant things to her skirt, and walked back into the kitchen. Link set his pack on the floor and took a seat across from the younger red-head. He smiled when she placed a protective arm around her cereal bowl and drew it closer.

"Hi."

She watched him attentively for several moments as she continued eating. "Hello," she eventually replied.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Romani."

"That's a pretty name," he said, earning a tentative smile. "Are you Malon's little sister?"

She nodded. "Romani's the youngest."

He blinked at the odd statement, but before he could parse out what it meant, Malon returned bearing his breakfast. She set a glass of orange juice and a plate in front of him, filled with a steaming stuffed omelet and thickly sliced bacon.

"That'll be five rupees," she said.

He smiled ruefully at the well-practiced phrase. Come to think of it, he never did get his change back from Saria...

"Uh … can I open a tab? At least until I get to a bank?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied, sliding him a pair of utensils on a napkin. "At least I know where to find you when it's time to collect." She gave him a teasing wink and turned back into the kitchen.

They ate silently, Romani watching Link with the unabashed intensity that only children could muster. The food was excellent, well worth the price in his opinion.

"What's your name?" Romani asked.

"Link," he replied. "You father is letting me stay here for a while. Do you know Saria?"

She nodded, smiling.

He hooked a thumb as his chest. "I'm her big brother."

She looked him up and down, as if she didn't quite believe it. "Your hair's the wrong color," she said.

Link laughed. "That's only because I don't dye it."

She nodded. "Then are you in Zelda's band?"

"I didn't even know she had a band," he admitted. "Is she as good as I hear?"

"They're all right. They don't practice enough though," she said, and went back to eating her cereal.

Talon came down the stairs, holding back a yawn. Dressed in an ancient, faded t-shirt and wrinkled jeans, he looked much different from the composed professional from yesterday. The full-sleeve tattoos were more easily visible, and they appeared to mimic the art on the wall out in the parking lot. He walked behind the bar and sat on the stool next to Romani.

"Mornin', Link. And good morning to you, sweetheart," he said, planting a sloppy kiss on Romani's cheek while he ruffled her hair.

She batted his hand away, smiling. "Stop it, Papa~! You'll mess up Romani's hair!"

"Ah, I forgot! The princess needs to look perfect for school," he sighed theatrically. "I can remember when all you girls wanted to wear were band shirts. Now it's not cool."

Malon came out at the sound of her father's voice, setting a breakfast spread in front of similar to Link's.

"Thank you, darlin'." he said, earning a kiss on the cheek from Malon. "Has Cremia come down yet?"

"Not yet," Malon replied. "I woke her up with Romani, but I think she went back to sleep. "

Talon sighed. "Could you run upstairs and try again?"

"You don't have to try anything," a voice said from the stairwell. "I'm already up."

The final Barten sister had appeared. Her hair was dyed raven-black and cut short, and her ears were pierced with those bizarre gauged earrings that seemed to have become so popular, but except for that she was the perfect half-way point between Malon and Romani. Mid to late teens, Link guessed, with the practiced sulk to match.

She slid behind the bar and took her own seat, then blinked in surprise when she caught sight of Link. "Who're you?"

Link laughed. "I've been getting that question a lot lately. Where's Mrs. Barten?" he asked. "I might as well just introduce myself to the whole family at once."

In an instant the room turned chilly. Link looked around at the suddenly somber faces of the Barten clan, then cleared his throat as realization began to dawn. "I just said something stupid, didn't I?"

Cremia scowled at him as she slid from her stool and disappeared into the kitchen. Malon collected Link's empty plate without meeting his eyes and followed, while Romani set her spoon to the side, her eyes downcast. Link looked to Talon, his eyes pleading for an answer.

"My wife died a couple years ago in a car crash," Talon explained, laying a soothing hand on Romani's shoulder. "It's … It hit us all pretty hard, when she passed."

Link felt as if a yawning pit opened in his stomach. "I … I'm sorry," he said, knowing it was woefully inadequate.

Talon waved a dismissive hand. "You couldn't have known," he said. "Sometimes I can get them to talk about her, remember the good times. But it's painful for my girls. Bad enough that her picture is covering the whole outer wall, but I couldn't bear to paint it over. She was the heart of the Live House."

"I had assumed that was Malon last night."

"She grew up to be the spitting image of her mother. More and more like her every day," Talon said, shaking his head. He was quiet for several moments, then squeezed Romani's shoulder. "Hurry up, pumpkin. You don't want to be late for school."

He followed his daughters into the kitchen. Romani continued looking into her cereal, but just as Link made to say something she looked at him, her eyes wide and solemn.

"Romani and Cremia were in the car when mommy died," she said softly. "Everyone says that Romani was asleep when it happened. They say that Romani couldn't know. But Romani remembers."

She slid out of her chair and took her bowl into the kitchen. Link slumped on his stool, suddenly feeling like the most worthless bastard on the planet.

_Open mouth, insert boot. Fuck me sideways._

* * *

_Ciao!_  
Raynre Valence – Sage of Time


End file.
